


Kyakubu

by chibiVeneficus



Series: Crossed Legs [4]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alt-Mode Sexual Interfacing, Frottage, M/M, Massage, One Shot, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:21:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22960084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibiVeneficus/pseuds/chibiVeneficus
Summary: Fort Max helps Ambulon exercise.Er, well, he was suppose to.
Relationships: Ambulon/Fortress Maximus
Series: Crossed Legs [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1556638
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39





	Kyakubu

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

“Do you have a moment, Maximus?” First Aid asked.

Fortress Maximus halted in his tracks to the door and looked over his shoulder with a heavy dose of trepidation.

“Is there something else?”

“Not in regards to your health, no.” First Aid fiddled with the chart in his hands as he continued. “I wanted to ask you a favor. A personal favor. About Ambulon.”

Fort Max twitched, not expecting his hookup to be brought up.

“You and Ambulon have gotten close and I’m glad of that,” First Aid said, surprising Max. Max hadn’t really thought of his relationship with Ambulon as being ‘close’ - they fragged when their off shifts coincided, and sometimes Ambulon hung out in his room. What part of that was close? But the medic kept speaking before he could ask for clarification. “Which is why I ask: could you try and get him to transform?”

“What?”

First Aid set the chart down to drum his fingers across its surface. “I can’t go into too much detail due to privacy issues, but Ambulon is my friend, and, suffice to say, he’s been neglecting his health. If you could have him transform a few times or even do some exercises, it would be a huge help.”

That didn‘t sound too hard to do which made it all the more suspicious. But he owed First Aid. He could at least try.

“Well…I’ll see what I can do.”

Even with his face hidden, First Aid‘s smile was blinding. “Thank you, Maximus. I appreciate it.”

* * *

Surprisingly (or perhaps not), that night brought Ambulon to his habsuite. The medic brought over file work in need of finishing, and grumbled about getting away from busybody co-workers when asked why. Fort Max didn’t mind the extra company. He was still reading up on the years he’d been indisposed; having another person around helped keep the crushing despair at bay.

He wasn’t reading much tonight though. First Aid’s request kept popping up in his thoughts.

Ambulon’s frame creaked as he stretched in his seat and his joints popped as loud as gunshots. It sounded like it hurt, and by the way Ambulon winced back into his usual slumped posture, it had.

“You transform into a leg, right?” Max asked before he realized he’d opened his mouth.

Ambulon froze.

“Who told you that?” Ambulon’s voice sounded neutral but Max’s threat assessment programs pinged DANGER.

“Ah, well, just gossip that you hear around, I guess,” Max said, shooting for casual but feared he was now eating his boot.

Ambulon turned, and the look he leveled on Max had the big tank unintentionally fluffing his armor to make himself appear larger. As if his size could scare away Ambulon’s displeased skepticism.

Fort Max gathered his courage and forged ahead with stubborn persistence. “But it sounds like you haven’t transformed in awhile. You’re a medic, you should know that it’s not healthy letting your cog rust.”

“I’ve transformed recently!” Ambulon snapped. Then he looked away, his mouth twisted in a grimace and an embarrassed blush dusting his cheeks. “…kinda.”

“Uh-huh. And how long were you transformed?”

Sullen silence answered Max which was answer enough.

“You’ll feel better if you do,” he pressed.

“Will it get you to stop pestering me?”

“Yeah.”

“Fine,“ Ambulon said as he shoved his chair back. The legs squealed across the floor, and as he stood he didn’t bother pushing it back under the console. With a harrumph that came from the entirety of his frame, Ambulon transformed.

“There. Are you happy?”

Fort Max got up from his seat on the recharge slab and walked a circuit around Ambulon. Ambulon’s alt was a leg alright: thigh, knee, shin, and foot, all there. And even as a leg, he still looked liked himself, which Max thought should have been obvious but his prior experiences with gestalts had made him expect a vehicle transformed into a limb. It was weird to see a leg three times its usual size and disembodied.

Max did another walk around before stopping in front of Ambulon.

“Aren’t gestalt pieces suppose to be…” Max moved his hands in vague shapes, as if doing so would help him be more eloquent, “…bigger?”

“Not all gestalts are a megamile high.” Ambulon sniffed, which was odd to hear a leg do.

Ambulon was actually _shorter_ in his alt-mode. Max found that fact hilarious but he knew better than to voice his amusement. Ambulon was ready to call this whole thing a failure before they’d even started. Best not to give him any reason to quite so soon.

“What stretches can you do?” Max asked.

“I’m a leg.” Ambulon’s voice was colder than the frozen outskirts of Delphi.

Max winced. “Right.” His boot was going to be welded in his mouth at this rate. “Sorry. Can you squat, or…?”

“Sure, if I wanted to fall over. It’s hard to balance a weight that isn’t there, and I haven’t exactly had a lot of practice standing on my own.”

Max hmmed as he considered this predicament. A bit of thought unearthed an old memory, of when he’d been stationed in the Gygax area, stuck in the trenches with nothing much to do to pass the time other than helping his fellow soldiers out.

“I can give you a massage. I’m a bit rusty but it should help with the aches you have. And you‘re already transformed.”

Ambulon harrumphed again.

“Why are you so fixated on this?” he asked.

Max knew better than to mention First Aid. But while this had started as fulfilling the medic’s request, Max realized that he wanted to do this for Ambulon. They weren’t quite friends he didn’t think, and while lovers was the correct word, it felt too intimate a label. They were two sparks that had found a bit of comfort in the other. Max wanted to help in this little way, wanted to help return to Ambulon what he did for Max. Max was adrift in emotions he didn’t quite understand and, honestly, didn’t want to. He was happy with what they had and he didn’t want to ruin it.

“Well, I want to…do something nice for you.” In a sudden bout of self-consciousness, Max looked away towards the wall. “That’s all.”

“…a massage is tempting,” Ambulon muttered before the silence grew too heavy. He shifted from side to side, the motion stiff, as if he was afraid to move too much.

“Can I touch you?” Max asked when the quiet dragged on.

“Alright, fine.”

“Just say if you want me to stop.”

Fort Max crouched and reached out, his fingertips brushing knee armor almost as thick as the length of his index finger. He traced the knee’s corners down to Ambulon’s shin, and from there across the instep to its white tip.

Ambulon’s plating had always been thick, but like this it felt sturdier, more hardy. He was meant to kept several tons aloft and balanced as the combined form of his components waded into battle, after all. It was possible that what mass-shifting took place when he transformed made him denser. It would explain why he was so short.

Max repeated the stroke and noticed the plating under his fingers trembled with the movement.

“This alright?”

“Yeah.”

A finger was joined by another and another until Max’s hand was stroking the boxy orange armor. He skirted around purple splotches, not wanting to further damage Ambulon’s paint or get chips in the joints of his fingers. Picking them out was never fun.

Max brought his other hand into play and slowly rubbed the shin‘s edges, trying his best to keep his touch this side of gentle. The relevant memories were centuries old and archived, but he still knew he could do a lot of damage if he wasn’t careful. Getting Ambulon used to his touches while he remembered what to do seemed the best course of action.

The basics came back to him as he continued. Stroke the metal until the joints relax, then wiggle the plates in small motions to help lubricant spread. Pressure was key; too gentle would do nothing while too hard would break stiff connections. With no magnets on hand, he would be stuck doing only the most basic, surface-level techniques, but that would hopefully be good enough.

When Ambulon was in root-mode, the gaps in his plating were too thin for Max’s big fingers to fit through. Like this, changed into a piece for a whole, Ambulon’s plating had to make room for large, heavy duty joints, and Max’s fingers now had ample room to explore. He poked a searching finger under the ankle guard, pushing on rigid joints with firm persuasion to get them to flex. Ambulon twitched under his hands, and the tightly held plates relaxed as Fort Max continued applying pressure.

…Was that a moan or a grunt of pain? It was hard to tell how Ambulon was reacting. There was no headlights or wipers to go by, and his engine was hard to hear in this form. His plates were still trembling but that could mean anything. Max had grown to expect a quiet partner and had learned the ways Ambulon expressed himself when words fled him, but his penchant for silence worked against him in this case. A leg had nothing to give away.

Max dragged a rough palm down the back length of Ambulon’s thigh before sliding his fingers along and into the long seam that bisected it. _That_ was definitely a moan.

Max had to smother a laugh. This was ridiculous - Ambulon’s alt was a leg and that wasn’t the least bit arousing, but the fact that Ambulon was finding pleasure in his touches even in a form he disliked had Max’s fans starting to spin.

He had to make sure though. “You really alright with this?”

“Frag it all Max, shut up and put up!”

His aim hadn’t been to rev Ambulon up but sometimes that happened with alt-massages. Fort Max had interfaced bots in alt-mode before but none of them had been a gestalt component. Still, the mechanics shouldn’t be too different, he figured, and who was he to stop when his partner was so enthused to continue? He set out to blow Ambulon’s circuits.

Fort Max fully sat and wrapped himself around Ambulon, his knees framing either side of the foot and his arms bracketing orange armor. They almost toppled over from his enthusiasm, but with a hiss of hydraulics Ambulon straightened and locked in place.

Max’s lips moved over the thigh plates in range, nibbling on the edges, tasting the electrified metal as heated air blasted over his face from Ambulon’s vents. Stretching up brought his mouth in range of the pelvic linkage joint. He swiped his tongue over the sensitive, open connection socket on top and felt Ambulon jerk in his grasp. The plating flushed all along Max’s front burned with promise.

The feel of their plating dragging against each other, the sparks of electricity exchanged at every brush, brought a tremble to Max’s hands. With some surprise, Fort Max found himself having to cancel insistent pings to release his spike. This wasn’t about him, this was about Ambulon and what Max could do for him. Max resolutely ignored the permissions, concentrating instead on following Amblon’s slow steady sway.

Ambulon bent his knee to better fit the curve of Max‘s frame, silently demanding more contact even as wisps of steam began to drift from his vents. Beads of condensation dotted the openings and Max eagerly lapped them up.

He nuzzled the thigh’s long plain down and then up, tongue following the transformation seam back to steaming vents. Max didn’t linger there, setting his sights higher on tantalizing bits normally hidden by armor.

In between kissing the cogs that made up Ambulon’s hips in root mode and dipping knuckle deep into the gap above the ankle mechanics, Max’s interface overrode his overrides and his spike popped out. The shock of it bumping into hot plating dragged a deep groan out of Max.

Well, so much for trying to keep this about Ambulon.

But his partner didn’t protest. Ambulon had to be able to feel the spike bumping against his plates and kept on swaying. Fort Max shifted his hips and his spike dragged across Ambulon’s long shin. It caught on the gap where a coupling head poked through, but the rough treatment enhanced the pleasure rather than distract from it. A trail of transfluid followed in the spike’s wake, painting wet tracks that helped ease his motion as he continued to rock his hips back and forth.

He groaned, the glancing contact not enough, and changed his grip to lace his fingers below the ridge of the calf, trying to pull Ambulon even closer. Fort Max’s thrusts quickened as he chased relief, paint flakes the least of his worries now.

It still wasn’t enough. Max hooked his fingers on the edges of the knee guard, braced his knees on the floor, and humped Ambulon in earnest. His hips moved in urgent need as his spike rubbed against hot metal, chasing for more friction, more sparks.

Fort Max overloaded with a shout, his hips losing their rhythm and working erratically as his spike painted stripes of transfluid across the length of Ambulon’s shin. Electricity snapped across his frame to ground in Ambulon, the shock of it tripping fuses. His joints failed to lock and he slumped, only held upright by the rigid line of his partner.

But Ambulon hadn’t overloaded. Blistering heat radiated from his plating as he trembled in Fort Max’s loose hold. He tried to say something but only static tumbled from his vocalizer.

“I’ve got you,” Max said, straightening from his slouch. He renewed his kisses and traced the straight orange angles of an ankle with firm fingers.

With his mouth reoccupied tasting the hot metal vents of Ambulon’s thigh, his hands roamed over the instep, dragging along corners to pinch the tip of a white toe. He kept one hand there to roam and slowly drew his other back up, seeking sensitive areas to tease. The delightful circles of half-hidden linkages were fun to trace and he dipped the tips of his fingers under the surrounding plates, strumming the wires. Another hard palm press against the sensitive pivot joint and overload sparked over Ambulon’s plating. Max held Ambulon tight as the medic shuddered with ecstasy, and continued to pet him through the aftershocks.

With a mechanical whine, Ambulon’s locks disengaged and they toppled over in a messy heap.

“That was fun,” Max said. He tried to shift into a more comfortable position but it was like trying to make camp on debris strewn ground.

“Off,” Ambulon demanded. Max obeyed and rolled over onto his back with leisurely slowness.

Ambulon transformed, and he scaled Max like a mountain, using fistfuls of plating to pull himself onto Max’s chest. He didn’t bother rearranging himself into a more stable position before grabbing Max’s chin and pulling him into a heated kiss.

The kiss was long and deep, and felt like it went on for a small eternity. It wasn’t often that Ambulon was forceful with his affection. Fort Max found that he liked it when Ambulon asserted himself like this.

“So I take it that you enjoyed that,” Max said as they pulled away to vent cooler air, their engines screaming redline.

“Mmmm. Maybe.” Ambulon draped himself over Max’s chest and buried his face in the crook of Max’s neck to avoid his confused glance. “It was nice but I don’t know. One good experience doesn’t erase all the bad, Max.” Ambulon scratched at his paint hard enough to make furrows of blue. Max’s hand engulfed his, entangling their fingers to keep them occupied in a far more pleasant pastime.

Fort Max sighed, understanding all too well what Ambulon meant.

“That’s alright. It just means we’ll have to keep making better ones.” He kissed their entwined hands. “Let’s clean up and get some rest.”

“Good idea. Hate scrubbing dried transfluid off,” Ambulon said and moved to get up. He paused halfway to his elbows. “Oh, Maximus?”

“Hm?”

“Next time just say First Aid’s recruited you into getting me to exercise. It’ll be easier.”

Fort Max winced. “That obvious?”

Ambulon poked Max’s cheek, a half-smile on his face. “Not at first. First Aid was real insistent on being annoying earlier tonight though. I suppose I can’t be too irritated at him. It‘s how he cares. Also,” he leaned forward to land a peck of a kiss on the tip of Max’s nose, “I’m not mad at you, but you’re lucky you’re cute.”

Max sputtered, embarrassment. He wasn’t _cute_! Ambulon used the opportunity to stand.

“C’mon, up. Where do you stash your wet wipes again?”


End file.
